Read Online Heather Graham by Down in New Orleans - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Down in New Orleans
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ready to finish up his senior year in the film school at the University of Miami. The kids were okay; he was okay. Maybe that was Maggie’s greatest legacy to him. It hadn’t been a perfect marriage; no marriage was perfect. But it had been a good one, and he had realized that he loved her just as passionately on the day that he buried her as he had when he married her.
Oddly enough, though, they had been arguing on the day she’d gone to the doctor. She went in because she was getting headaches which he blamed on the fender-bender she had because she’d neglected to get her brakes checked when he’d told her to. He didn’t expect anything serious when she came walking out to the waiting room; in fact, he looked up, smiling, ready to tease her. “Bad headache, huh? I know, no sex for a month, right?”
Then he saw the expression on her face, the anguish in her eyes, the tears brimming within them. She had always been a no-nonsense woman. A good wife for a cop. She had lived with the danger facing him. She was strong. So strong.
She never cried. Not when she received the news of the tumor; not when he broke down and cried himself. The only time tears ever spilled from her eyes was once, just once, near the end. She couldn’t bear to leave her sons, just coming into manhood. She couldn’t bear their tears, nor Mark’s, and so everyone learned to live with the days they had left. They had time, and they talked, and Mark told her once that he could never love again, and she remained quiet, ruffling his hair. “You need to love again; everyone needs to love.” He denied her words, and she had smiled. “Just make sure she’s a good woman, Mark. Because you’re a good man. And you deserve the best. Mark, you’re human. You’ve loved me. We’ve fought, we’ve quarreled, but it’s been good. Don’t punish yourself because we did love one another!” On another occasion she told him, “Don’t be alone too long, Mark. God, I love you. Don’t be alone. Don’t hurt for me the rest of your life. Just remember, never judge a book—or a woman—by a cover!”
Near the end, she had suffered. But at the very end, she had slipped away quietly in his arms, and he and Michael and Sean had been there for one another. That had been almost seven years ago now. He still loved Maggie. And Maggie’s words were what had made him realize there was so much more to Gina on that night when he had nearly arrested her. “Never judge a book—or a woman—by a cover!” Thanks to Maggie, he’d gotten to see what lay beneath Gina’s veneer. And Gina, no matter what she did for a living, had been a good woman, full of life and love.
She’d died for her dreams, so it seemed.
He heard a noise at his front door and reached automatically for his police-issue gun, nestled in its holster on the chair by his bed. Then he realized that a key had turned in the lock. Michael. He rose quickly, slipping into his briefs and a pair of jeans. He was barely dressed when he heard a tapping on his bedroom door, which was standing ajar.
“Grandpa?”
“Come on in, Munchkin,” he called, opening the door. Michael’s daughter, Brit, just turned six, stood staring up at him with her grandmother’s big blue eyes. Brit frowned, studying him. He realized his hair was still tousled from the shower. He must look like death warmed over.
“Daddy didn’t think you could be home so late. I said that you were. I saw the car.”
“You’re a smart girl.”
“I’m going to be a detective one day,” she told him proudly.
He arched a brow. He opened his mouth to tell her to be something else; police work was dangerous. He didn’t want her hurt.
He thought, though, that he didn’t have the right to tell her such a thing. Life was dangerous, and he’d worry about her forever no matter what; but she had a right to choose what she wanted to do with her own life. Though he’d been the cop, Maggie was the one the family had lost.
He smoothed
Oddly enough, though, they had been arguing on the day she’d gone to the doctor. She went in because she was getting headaches which he blamed on the fender-bender she had because she’d neglected to get her brakes checked when he’d told her to. He didn’t expect anything serious when she came walking out to the waiting room; in fact, he looked up, smiling, ready to tease her. “Bad headache, huh? I know, no sex for a month, right?”
Then he saw the expression on her face, the anguish in her eyes, the tears brimming within them. She had always been a no-nonsense woman. A good wife for a cop. She had lived with the danger facing him. She was strong. So strong.
She never cried. Not when she received the news of the tumor; not when he broke down and cried himself. The only time tears ever spilled from her eyes was once, just once, near the end. She couldn’t bear to leave her sons, just coming into manhood. She couldn’t bear their tears, nor Mark’s, and so everyone learned to live with the days they had left. They had time, and they talked, and Mark told her once that he could never love again, and she remained quiet, ruffling his hair. “You need to love again; everyone needs to love.” He denied her words, and she had smiled. “Just make sure she’s a good woman, Mark. Because you’re a good man. And you deserve the best. Mark, you’re human. You’ve loved me. We’ve fought, we’ve quarreled, but it’s been good. Don’t punish yourself because we did love one another!” On another occasion she told him, “Don’t be alone too long, Mark. God, I love you. Don’t be alone. Don’t hurt for me the rest of your life. Just remember, never judge a book—or a woman—by a cover!”
Near the end, she had suffered. But at the very end, she had slipped away quietly in his arms, and he and Michael and Sean had been there for one another. That had been almost seven years ago now. He still loved Maggie. And Maggie’s words were what had made him realize there was so much more to Gina on that night when he had nearly arrested her. “Never judge a book—or a woman—by a cover!” Thanks to Maggie, he’d gotten to see what lay beneath Gina’s veneer. And Gina, no matter what she did for a living, had been a good woman, full of life and love.
She’d died for her dreams, so it seemed.
He heard a noise at his front door and reached automatically for his police-issue gun, nestled in its holster on the chair by his bed. Then he realized that a key had turned in the lock. Michael. He rose quickly, slipping into his briefs and a pair of jeans. He was barely dressed when he heard a tapping on his bedroom door, which was standing ajar.
“Grandpa?”
“Come on in, Munchkin,” he called, opening the door. Michael’s daughter, Brit, just turned six, stood staring up at him with her grandmother’s big blue eyes. Brit frowned, studying him. He realized his hair was still tousled from the shower. He must look like death warmed over.
“Daddy didn’t think you could be home so late. I said that you were. I saw the car.”
“You’re a smart girl.”
“I’m going to be a detective one day,” she told him proudly.
He arched a brow. He opened his mouth to tell her to be something else; police work was dangerous. He didn’t want her hurt.
He thought, though, that he didn’t have the right to tell her such a thing. Life was dangerous, and he’d worry about her forever no matter what; but she had a right to choose what she wanted to do with her own life. Though he’d been the cop, Maggie was the one the family had lost.
He smoothed
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